


Sherlock Holmes and the Defense of Logres

by DonnesCafe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover Sherlock/Dresden Files, Demons, Logres, M/M, Magic, Sherlock may be out of his depth, and maybe a bit of That Hideous Strength, angel!John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 15:58:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1824088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DonnesCafe/pseuds/DonnesCafe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Playing with the angel / demon trope here. Mashup of Sherlock and the Dresden-verse with a tangential relationship to That Hideous Strength. Haven’t read the latest Dresden, so it doesn’t follow the time-line of the last couple of those.  This (1) takes place shortly after ASiP, (2) Sherlock and John haven’t yet met, (3) John’s an angel. Not abandoned, will get back to it someday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock Holmes and the Defense of Logres

“Oh, good, you wore trousers this time.” 

“Shoes and socks as well. I’ve put away childish things. Now, Mycroft, can we dispense with further sarcasm? Why am I here?” Sherlock and Mycroft were alone in a small anteroom in Buckingham Palace. 

“The Queen requires your services on a matter of national importance.” 

“More misbehaving family members? Boring. Really, Mycroft, I have pressing cases.” 

“Believe me, none of your little puzzles are as pressing as this situation. I must ask you, when I make the introduction in the other room, to take it quite seriously. I assure you that I do. Be respectful, listen, and be careful of the tone of any questions you may ask. Accept the job you are about to be offered as a duty to your queen and country. Refusing it might mean your death.” 

“What, shot for treason?” Really, Mycroft was so dramatic. 

“Hardly anything so mundane, little brother. Now, follow me.” 

Sherlock was intrigued in spite of himself. He trailed after Mycroft into the same large reception room he remembered from last time. A woman stood by one of the brocade sofas. She was well over six feet tall. Somehow she reminded him of Irene, but Irene to the tenth power. Her face was dead-white, as was the hair swept into a complicated up-twist. Diamonds and sapphires sparkled in her ears and at the long, white neck. She wore a steel-grey suit that could only have been made Paris and black Louboutin spiked heels. 

“Your Majesty,” Mycroft said, inclining his head, “may I present my brother, Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, you have the honor of meeting Mab, Queen of Air and Darkness.” 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the woman. Ridiculous, he thought. She narrowed her eyes back at him. Death looked out of them. She lifted her chin and waited. 

Sherlock hesitated another moment, then bowed gracefully from the waist. “An honor, your majesty.” He felt, rather than heard, Mycroft’s sigh of relief. 

“Elizabeth will not be joining us?” Mab asked, turning toward Mycroft. 

“Her apologies, ma’am. She had a prior engagement. Christening a battleship at Barrow-in-Furness.” 

“Very well,” said Mab. “Shall we sit?” They did. She turned to Sherlock. 

“The situation is this. My Winter Knight has been captured and magicked from my service. I require him back, and I need a temporary replacement for the task. I have chosen you.” 

Magic. This must be some elaborate joke of Mycroft’s to get back at him for the Coventry affair. He looked from Mycroft to Mab. Serious as death. 

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, I am a consulting detective. I know nothing of magic, even conceding for the moment, out of respect to you, that it exists. Why me?” 

“Because I chose you. That is all you need to know. I need a detective as well as a knight, a man of resource, intelligence, and courage. And you have magic, although you are not trained in it. Your great-grandmother Vernet was quite a notable witch in her day. There was even a Holmes on the White Council, long ago.” 

“White Council?” 

“The White Council,” Mycroft said, “is apparently a group of powerful wizards who guard, or attempt to guard, the safety of the world. They are based, conveniently, in London.” 

“So my task is to find your… knight… and restore him to you?” 

“Yes,” said Mab. 

“There’s more to it,” said Mycroft. “It’s how the Queen…. Our Queen… became involved. The demon who captured Harry Dresden, the Winter Knight, also took the Stone of Scone from Edinburgh Castle yesterday.” 

“The coronation stone?” Sherlock would get back to the world “demon” in a moment. One thing at a time. 

“It is, unfortunately, much more than that,” said Mycroft. 

“The stone is the Lia Fáil, brought by the Tuatha Dé Danann, the divine ones, to Tara,” said Mab. “Stolen by you Englishmen later. It has great power. I believe that the demon plans to use the stone to unmake the wards on Logres. If he succeeds, your land will lie open to chaos and great evil.” 

“Logres?” asked Sherlock. 

“The old name for parts of England from the time of Merlin,” Mycroft explained. “He set the wards on a… um… danger night… for Arthur’s kingdom. Satan is the Lord of the World, of course, so there has always been the danger of evil and violence totally swamping us.” 

Merlin. Satan. Demons. Sherlock could not believe he was hearing this. 

“But there has been a balance between good and evil in the human world as in Faery,” said Mab. “If the demon whose name I will not say obtains the Chalice as well as the Stone, that balance may tip beyond recovery. He can perform great Magic. He will sacrifice Harry Dresden, drain his blood into the Chalice, and pour it on the stone. The magic created would be so deep that the wards would fail.” 

“I have been assured that if the wards fall, England will fall. And not just England. Think dominoes.” Silence fell in the room. 

Although Sherlock was afraid he knew, he asked anyway. “The Chalice?” 

“The Cup, the Grail. It has been called many things.” said Mycroft. He and Mycroft looked at each other for a long moment. Of course it was the Holy Grail. Why not? He was apparently in Cloud Cuckoo Land. 

“So, Mycroft, I am to find this Harry Dresden, free him from the clutches of a demon, liberate the Stone of Scone, and prevent said demon from obtaining the Holy Grail, thus saving the world as we know it. Anything else?” 

“I think that covers it.” Payback was a bitch, thought Sherlock. Mycroft had really been upset about the Coventry business. 

“You will need assistance from the Grail Keeper.” 

“And why is that?” 

“He’s an angel, among other things,” said Mab. 

Sherlock laughed. Mab narrowed her icy blue eyes at him. 

“Apologies,” he said. She nodded and continued. “He needs to be informed about the danger to the Grail, and his powers and weapons will prove useful in your quest.” 

So now he was a knight. With a quest. And an angel sidekick-to-be. And to think he had been bored this morning. 

Mab stood. The men quickly stood as well. “Do you accept your position as Winter Knight, Sherlock Holmes?” Mab asked with a tone of ceremony. 

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” he said. 

“Of course,” she said. “You are human. Your Maker gave you free will. But I believe you have the best chance of success of the choices open to me. If you value your life and the lives of all you hold dear, it would be well to accept my offer.” 

“Then I accept,” he said. 

"Splendid," she said. “There is a ring.” She motioned to Mycroft, who pulled a leather pouch from a pocket, withdrew a silver ring, and handed it to Queen Mab. She motioned to Sherlock’s left hand, and he held it out. She slid the ring on his index finger, and a chill went through him. He lifted his right hand and touched it. It was, indeed, unusually cold to the touch. Old silver, intricately carved, swirls that might be letters in a script he did not recognize. In the center was a small, flat, blue stone. It looked similar to lapis, but darker, with flecks of something in it. He touched the stone. It was warm. It felt…. Something unfolded inside him, calm, serene, large…. He snatched his finger away. What the…. he started to think “hell” but that seemed singularly inappropriate for what he felt when he touched the stone. 

“It is, in some sort, protection against demonic power. You can also use it to call for aid from Faery, but only once and at great need. It has other powers that the Keeper may know. Use it wisely.” 

“Why can’t you do this yourself? Just curious.” 

“The Grail and its keeper are matters for humans and angels,” she said. “Their power could Unmake me and much else besides. The demon's plan would largely affect the human world. Faery might well remain unmolested, although we might have to destroy the Bridges. He took my Knight, however, which has involved me. Also, I am fond of the human world. It amuses me.” 

“So I should say thank you for your help?” 

She smiled. Her teeth were blue-white and ever-so-slightly pointed. Her lips were a dark violet. The total effect was chilly and more than a little disturbing. “Good manners are never wasted.” 

“Then thank you, Your Majesty. Where do I find this angel?” 

“Glastonbury, of course. His name is John Watson.” 

“Isn’t John Watson rather a prosaic name for an angelic being? Shouldn’t it be Gabriel or Raphael or Something-el. Isn’t that the convention?” 

“As I have learned, Sherlock,” Mycroft broke in smoothly as Mab’s mouth tightened, “angels have two natures when they are on earth. They are embodied as humans. They have some angelic knowledge and powers, but they are limited by their human nature. John Watson is, among other things, a doctor at Butleigh Hospital in Glastonbury. I’ll give you the address.” 

“And his _angelic_ name, My Knight, is Jeruziel. I advise you to stick to Watson for the time being. Names have power.” 

“And the name of the demon I am pursuing?” 

Mycroft took out his pocket diary and fountain pen. He wrote a few words on it, tore out the page, and passed it to Sherlock. 

_Apollyon. a/k/a Abaddon. The Destroyer._

“Superstitious, Mycroft?” Sherlock asked dryly, looking down at the names. 

“Cautious,” said Mycroft. 

“As you should be, My Knight. As I said, names have power. Saying the name of a demon holds dangers. Influence, summoning, power,” said Mab. “He is one of the oldest and most powerful.” 

“Wonderful,” said Sherlock. He passed the small piece of paper back to his brother. “Write down Watson’s address. I’ll go as soon as I’ve packed a bag.” 

“Already done. Your car is out back.” 

“I’ll need a gun.” 

“Glove compartment.” 

“Useless against demons, I suppose.” 

“More or less,” said Mycroft. “But he may have human confederates.” 

“Any weapons that _are_ useful against demons?” 

“You’ll have to talk to John Watson about that.” 

“And why would an angel trust me?” 

“Show him the ring,” said Mab. “He will recognize it. It belonged to Percival. The stone is _lapsit ex caelis_ , long connected with the Grail.” 

Sherlock looked down at the ring. “And what was it doing in Faery, if I may ask?” 

Mab smiled her chilly smile. “George III lost it to me when he was Regent. He didn’t really know what it was, just an old family ring he was wearing. We were playing piquet at the Pavilion. He was hoping to bed me, the fool. I played fair, he wagered the ring. The ring protects its wearer from many things. Poor George. Things didn’t go well for him after that. Let’s just say I’m giving it to you as a professional courtesy to the Keeper. That should more than get you in the door.”


End file.
